


Hot Like Badass Women

by majorbisexualdisaster



Series: Hot Like [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autumn, BAMF Sansa Stark, Exes, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Fights, First Dates, First Kiss, Friendship, Hospitals, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Jon just sits there and looks pretty like all of season 8, Jon just wants to have a normal date for once in his life, is that too much to ask?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorbisexualdisaster/pseuds/majorbisexualdisaster
Summary: Jon attempts to take Sansa out on that date. Awkwardness, exes and hospital visits ensue.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Hot Like [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989706
Comments: 24
Kudos: 82





	Hot Like Badass Women

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you have this amazing idea in your head but, when you put it on paper it's worse than Donald Trump's presidency? That was what my first draft of this was. Personally, I think it got much better so I hope you enjoy it!

Jon has wanted this for so long but, now that the day is finally here, he has no idea what to do. In any other circumstance, he would have simply texted Robb and asked him for advice. But he  _ can't _ , which is probably the reason why Satin is rifling through his closet at the moment.

"Do you even own anything that's not black, Jon?" he asks, tossing another t-shirt on the steadily growing pile of black clothes on Jon's bed. "Gods, even something  _ grey _ ."

Jon shrugs from his seat on the floor, doing a mental checklist of everything he needs for tonight. "I think I have a grey hat."

Satin glares at him from over his shoulder. "You're utterly hopeless." After a few more minutes of throwing Jon's clothes out of his closet, Satin tosses him a pair of jeans and a button-up t-shirt. "You really need to expand your wardrobe. This"—he waved his hands at the pile of black clothes—"is pathetic."

"Satin," Jon whines, "I need support. Not for you to criticize my style."

Satin scoffs. "What style?"

"You've gotten so mean ever since you started hanging out with Ygritte."

Satin laughs and begins to put the clothes back. "That's on you, mate. You introduced us."

Pouting, Jon heads to the bathroom, reapplies his deodorant and washes his face with a splash of cold water before changing into the outfit Satin picked. The pants are one of his two 'nice jeans' and Jon's pretty sure the shirt was bought for a friend's great-uncle's funeral. He pulls his damp hair back into a bun and even though there's that one curl that keeps escaping, it looks nice and Jon  _ really _ doesn't want to be late.

Sam arrives, puffing up the stairs with Gilly a few minutes later, once Jon and Satin have finished putting his clothes away. "You look very nice, Jon," he says. "All ready for your first date?"

Jon glares, wiping off a piece of imaginary lint from his shirt. "It's not my first date."

They all laugh. "The  _ one _ dinner you had with Ygritte does not count as a date. That was a disaster."

"It  _ was _ a date because we called it a date."

Sam laughs. "So either you have no dating experience or you have one that ended with both of you in the hospital for  _ days _ . I'd go with no experience."

Gilly smiles sympathetically at him. "What happened with that anyway? Food poisoning?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. Can we go?" Jon checks his clock, the bright numbers blurring for a second before blinking into focus. "I don't want to be late."

They pile into Satin's Honda—which he's kindly letting Jon borrow since his mom's working the night shift—and Jon lets them off at their respective houses after they each tried and failed to give him a pep talk to calm his nerves.

"Remember," Satin says, grinning at him through the window. "Whatever you do, it can't be worse than with Ygritte."

"You're so funny, mate. You should be a comedian."

Satin rolls his eyes and points at his mouth. "Remember to smile too!"

Jon rolls his eyes and drives to the Starks' house. His hands are sweating by the time he knocks on the door and his insides have turned into a swarm of fire ants.

"Jon," Ned says, pulling open the door. "Come in, I think Sansa's still in the bathroom."

Jon smiles weakly and steps through the threshold, bouncing on the balls of his shoes. "It's—Well, I'm a little early anyway."

Arya rushes into the foyer where Ned and Jon are standing awkwardly with their hands in their pockets. She looks him up and down, before laughing. "I didn't think  _ anyone _ could be more nervous than Sansa. You look like you're about to puke."

"Leave the boy alone, Arya. Dates are hard."

Jon gives him another weak smile as Arya goes into the closet and grabs two of Sansa’s jackets. Before running back off to wherever she was. 

The silence stretches, wrapping around his throat, strangling him. He's known Ned his whole life, has spent weeks on end at the Stark's house when he was younger. Thankfully, Robb walks in, looking between Jon and Ned before rolling his eyes.

"Dad, it's not like he's Joffrey Baratheon. It's Jon." Robb turns to him, smiling pleasantly and patting him on the shoulder. "Honestly, I feel like it's Sansa I should be giving the shovel talk to. Wait, actually just make sure this isn't as bad as that time with what's her—Ygritte, alright?"

Jon winces. That definitely wasn’t his finest moment (days really). "It won't be."

Robb turns to Ned and begins to talk about the football game on tonight when Sansa walks in and. Wow. Like. Wow. She's so pretty. Her hair is back to it's normal, bright red, twisted in a complicated knot on her head. Her top is black, tucked into her blue skinny jeans that make her thighs look mouth-watering. There's a nervous smile on her face as she glances at him. Gods, she's so beautiful.

"Hi," she says, stepping into a pair of ballet flats and a fall jacket. 

His mouth is dry and he just stands there gaping for a few seconds. "Hi," he replies, though he's sure it's more of a strangled noise from deep in his stomach than it is an actual greeting.

"Be home by ten," Ned shouts as they walk side by side to Satin's car. 

Jon opens the door for her, then runs around to the driver's side. Sansa begins to giggle as they pull onto a busy street.

"Why is this awkward? It shouldn't be awkward." She looks over at him, bright blue eyes framed with dark lashes. "Let's not make this awkward."

"Yeah, right. Good idea." Two beats. "It's so awkward."

They both burst into nervous laughter, smiles dancing on their lips as the faint sounds of rap music filter through the stereo. 

"So... how was your day?" Jon asks, palms sweaty as he makes a left turn. 

"It was—It was good. Yeah." Sansa's hands fidget with the hem of her dress. "Do you think aliens exist?"

"Do I—Why do you want to know?"

Sansa shrugs, the light of the sun illuminating her hair, almost as if she has an aura of red light surrounding her. "Small talk is awkward. Now, answer the question."

Jon's hands tap in time to the music. "I mean, yeah. 'Cause, the universe is infinitely large which means there should at  _ least  _ be more than one planet capable of sustaining life, even if it wouldn't be able to sustain human life. Right? The idea that we're the only—why are you looking at me like that?"

A delicate blush paints Sansa's cheeks red. "You're cute when you ramble about science."

"I wasn't rambling!"  _ Oh gods, Sansa called him cute! _

Conversation flows freely and easily the rest of the way. The Dornish restaurant they’re going to is squished between a chain restaurant from the Reach and the clothing store where he works part-time (which is why he knows the food is good and also, Sansa likes Dornish food). They park a little way down the street and walk through the brisk fall air into the heat of the restaurant. Their table is pressed up against the front window of the store, the veneer at the edges of the table slowly starting to peel away. 

It feels inadequate to take her here, with the graffiti in the bathrooms and the shouts of the other customers echoing throughout the restaurant. If he could, he would take her to King's Landing, serve her a feast with dozens of different dishes, everyone dressed in their most expensive finery. He's not in King's Landing and they both have on jeans but Sansa's smiling at him so he must have done something right.

A waiter comes up to them with water and menus, placing them quickly on the table before hurrying over to a family with a crying baby. Sansa picks up her menu, tongue poking out slightly from between her pink lips.

"What's good here?" she asks, putting down the menu in front of her, a smile crinkling the corner of her bright, clear blue eyes. 

Jon flicks his eyes over the laminated menu, lingering on the dark blue words that started the dinner section of the menu. "I like the lamb with honey. Um"—he points at a soup on the menu—"that's pretty good too. And the stuffed peppers."

Sansa raises one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, surprise dancing in her eyes. "You like spicy food? I didn't know that."

He shrugs, tucking the loose curl back into his bun. "Yeah. I mean, my mom lived in Dorne when she was younger and that's all she cooks."

"Oh, gods."

Has he already messed this up? Is he not allowed to talk about his mom? Is that something people don't do on dates? Will she—

"Oh shit." Sansa's face is pale, eyes glued to the window. Jon turns, seeing the semi-busy street illuminated by the setting sun and the glow of street lamps. There's a group of boys around their age, walking towards the restaurant and Jon gets the inkling that he knows the sandy-haired boy in the middle.

"Do you know them?"

Sansa nods, her hands tightening into fists on top of the table. "Ex," she mutters. "Really bad breakup."

"Oh." Jon nods, glancing back at the group of boys who have crossed the street and are headed into the restaurant. The bell above the door jingles accompanied by a blast of cold November air as the group swaggers in. 

The sandy-haired boy locks eyes on their table, a self-satisfied smirk curling ugly on his lips. "Sansa Stark, it's good to see you again," he says, walking over to the edge of their table.

Sansa's shoulders tense, eyes squeezed shut before she replaces her grimace with a smirk and turns to him.

"Harrold Hardyng. I can't say the same."

_ Ah yes, the cheater. _

Jon coughs into his hand to hide the laughter bubbling in his chest at the sheer shock on Hardyng's face. The other two boys look at each other in confusion—a bit slow on the uptake, Jon assumes. Hardyng turns to Jon and says, "Man, I know she's pretty, but you're wasting your time. She's a bitch who doesn't put out."

Before Jon can say anything, a fist flies into Hardyng's face.

"Or maybe I just didn't want to sleep with you, you  _ fucking _ self-entitled pig!"

That was very, incredibly, extraordinarily hot. He really should not be thinking that right now.

Hardyng stumbles back, his two mates catching him as he spits out some blood. The room is deathly silent (the baby finally stopped crying). Sansa's hands are clenched at her sides, chest heaving as she glares at Hardyng. 

"Not in my restaurant!" a tall bearded man shouts, coming to stand between the two groups. “All of you get out right now.”

"But, she hit me!" Hardyng stammers, wiping at his bleeding nose. "I didn't do anything."

The owner shoots him a pitiful look. "I really don't care. All of you out."

Hardyng leaves first, followed by his friends. Jon and Sansa wait until they’re on the other side of the street before leaving. The biting November air slaps him in the face as soon as he steps outside, the half-moon shines brightly overhead.

"Well," Sansa says. "That didn't go as planned."

"He had it coming. I mean, who says that about another person?"

Sansa nods, scuffing her ballet flat against the pavement. "Yeah. He's a douchebag."

Jon tucks his loose curl back into his bun. "Well, I think you handled him brilliantly. I didn't know you knew how to throw a punch."

Sansa smiles, then grimaces. "I don't. I think I hurt my wrist."

Jon looks down and sure enough, her right hand is already starting to swell, red and purple blotches marring her skin. Suddenly, they're driving down the highway, barreling towards the nearest hospital.

"Jon, I'm fine. It's probably just bruised or something."

"But what if it's not?" He's panicking. "It could be fractured, could be broken. You need to get it x-rayed."

The triage nurse looks at Sansa and back at her chart, then back at Sansa with pursed lips. "You punched your ex-boyfriend?"

Sansa winces and nods. "He was being a douche—uh, rude. He was being rude."

The nurse rolls her eyes and tells them to follow the yellow lines. They're still waiting when Ned and Catelyn come in, crushing Sansa with hugs, Jon's mom comes in on her break to make sure they were both alright. Then they both sit through an hour-long lecture on non-violent confrontation and Catelyn still isn’t done by the time a nurse comes to take Sansa to the x-ray room. They wait another hour and a half for the results before Sansa is taken to get a cast because she  _ did _ break her wrist.

They're in the parking lot, waiting for Catelyn and Ned to deal with insurance and payments when Sansa turns to him. The parking lot floodlights shine brightly against her magnificent hair, somehow still perfectly attached in her fancy updo. 

"Do you want to sign my cast?" she asks with a pretty smile. 

"Sure—wait, do you have a pen?"

Her smile falls and the darkness isn't enough to hide the blush on her cheeks. "Probably should've thought of that." A pause and then she smirks. "Well, if you can't sign my cast, wanna give me a kiss instead?"

Jon's sure his brain is misfiring because there's  _ no way _ she just said that. No way. Impossible. Unbelievable. Ludicrous—

Sansa stands on her tippy-toes, swinging her good arm around his neck before pressing her lips to his. They’re soft against his, sending bolts of lightning through his body. His hands gently cup her face, following her head as she kisses him.

(Oh gods, she’s  _ kissing _ him).

Then Jon's stomach gurgles. 

Sansa laughs and breaks away. "Maybe next time we'll actually be able to eat.”

Though he’s blushing, Jon's heart soars— _ next time _ . He grins and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd like that a lot. Yeah, I'd really like that."


End file.
